All I hear in his words is confidence. He has a way of instilling this quiet kind of belief in you, like, of course you’ll figure it out.
He lets go when the oven timer goes off. He plates up two dishes, then sits beside me at the island, shooing Gracie away when she tries to climb into his lap. She jumps down with an offended flick of her tail.
I try the baked mac and cheese and nearly moan. “This is really good. They made all this themselves?”
“From what I gathered, Mia helped, but yeah.”
I hum around another bite.
Miles shifts beside me, fingers drumming on the counter. “Everyone was bummed you weren’t there.”
I arch a brow. I’ve barely met most of them. Sure, I can work a room, make people laugh, but being memorable and being missed are two different things. “I highly doubtanyonemissed me that much.”
“I did,” he says softly. Too softly. Soft enough to work its way under my skin and settle near my heart.
I keep my eyes on my plate.
We eat in mostly silence. When Miles finishes, he turns his water glass in a slow circle, pretending he’s not watching me. “You could come to a game sometime. If you want. Meet everyone.”
“Your game?”
He chuckles. “I mean, yeah. Unless you’d prefer to cheer for another team.”
“It’s okay.” I bump my shoulder into his arm. “I’ll cheer for you.”
I take our plates to the dishwasher, aware of him behind me the whole time. When I turn, his gaze snaps up to meet mine.
“Hey.” I twist the dish towel between my hands. “Do you want to watch a movie?A Christmas Storyis kind of a tradition in my family, but I haven’t had the chance this year.”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “Let’s do it.”
We settle on the couch. I grab the remote and search for the movie, while he disappears for a second, then returns with a blanket. He throws it over my legs before taking the opposite corner of the sectional.
There’s so much space between us. And I cannot for the life of me shut up the incessant voice in my head telling me to close it.
“Oh—before I forget.” Miles stands and crouches by the tree, then comes back with a wrapped box about the size of a hardback book. He holds it out. “Here.”
“I didn’t get you anything…” Guilt prickles under my skin.
Even with my bank account barely staying afloat and my brain overrun with lyrics, chord progressions, and Boone’s expectations, I should’ve thought to get him something.
Outside of family, I haven’t had someone to Christmas shop for in years. And even when I did, I can’t remember a single gift I gave or got. Kind of strange, now that I’m thinking about it.
“Didn’t expect you to.” He nudges the box toward me. “It’s just something small.”
“Okay,” I mumble, but the word gets lost in the sound of tearing paper.
Inside is a pocket-sized leather portfolio. I open it to find a notepad and a gold pen. I roll it between my fingers and notice the engraving running along the barrel.
For the record.
That lump I’ve been swallowing since I walked through the door rises again.
No one’s ever given me something like this before. Not the actual gift, but the quiet message underneath it:I see you. Keep going.
My exes gave me flowers that wilted. Gift cards I never used. Things that said, “I remembered it’s Christmas,” not “I’ve been paying attention toyou.”
“In case you wanted to upgrade your grandma notebook,” he jokes into the silence. “But if there’s some superstition with that one, you don’t have to?—”
